Back to the Sea
by MFerDLF
Summary: The story of how Sally met Poseidon.


**A/N: I asked Natalia1417 (if you don´t who she is, I suggest you go check her stories out, they´re so very amazing) on DA if she could write the story of how Sally met Poseidon, or how Maria met Hades. She suggested that I do the Sally and Poseidon one, and she´d do the Hades and Maria one :D  
So, yeah, here it is ;)**

**Also: I picture Sally being a lot more carefree when she was younger, by the time she met Poseidon. She, of course, did have responsibilities at the time, but not as many- I believe that being a lone mother (Gabe doesn´t coun´t, shhh) can change a person a whole awful lot, especially when your child is a demigod.  
As for Poseidon, well, love also changes people, right? I imagine him beeing a lot sweeter with her than he appeared with Percy, haha.**

**And finally: the last line was taken from the Fanmix named "Tidal", by chelsea rae (clockworkwolves) on Livejournal**

**I do not own PJO/HOO.**

* * *

_Five_

The first time they met, they weren't even aware of it.

She had been resting peacefully in a blue-and-white foldable chair overlooking the sea; her feet buried in the sand and her brown hair tossed carelessly into a bun. She had been reading, although nowadays she can't recall what- memory goes only to some extents.

He came up from behind her, carrying another foldable chair, green-and-white. "Mind if I sit here?" he had asked, and she shrugged without lifting her gaze.

There was a breeze, the waves rippled. He felt calm, so close to his domain: the sea, the wetter version of the skies.

She recalls he had been trying to make small talk. He recalls his intents were brushed off, that she didn't even lift her gaze, and she only even moved to gather a pen and an old, weather-beaten journal. She then proceeded to scribble away the hours, or so it felt to him.

He remembered watching her from the corners of his eyes, and noticing the smallest details- that she was left handed, for instance. Or that she bit her lower lip and furrowed her brow as her pen connected with the pages. And of course, the way she brushed off her bangs absent-mindedly.

Only when the beach was almost deserted did she stand, stretched and dropped her things into her bag.

He waved good-bye, but her back was by then turned to him.

Sally Jackson hadn't even bothered to ask his name.

* * *

_Four_

The second time they met, a flicker of recognition ran between them.

It had occurred in the New Year's party, back when the place was alive with people and fairy lights lined the palm trees.

The air was buzzing with a mix of lively Brazilian music and the salty smell of the sea when he spotted her, sipping quietly at a plastic cup in a corner. It could only be her, he reasoned- he had never seen anybody else writing with such impetus.

He watched her amusedly for a while until she finally closed her journal and looked around. Her gaze met his, and he thought the time was appropriate. He walked towards her.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, remembering quite clearly that those were the first words he ever said to her.

Apparently she remembered, too, because she stared at him a second too long before replying, "Sit if you please."

He did.

Warily, he eyed the journal, and then his eyes flickered to hers as his lips formed the words, "What were you writing? You seemed pretty intent in it, too."

"Oh." She blushed. She looked down into the worn cover of the little book, and at her (blue) ink-stained fingers before answering. "It's nothing, really. Just... ideas."

"What kind of ideas?" he insisted, a smile playing on the edge of his lips.

She looked up at him, and her eyes crinkled as if she was smiling, smiling at him, although he couldn't quite prove his theory as she was sipping the contents of her cup away.

She proved to be a chatterbox. Or perhaps she was nervous, perhaps not- who knew? He didn't mind. He proved to be a great listener, possessing a tranquility that could only be compared to that of the gentle sea.

When she asked for his name, he didn't quite know what to say. Should he lie? He could always use any common name. Yes, perhaps that would be the best, but...

"Poseidon." She still remembers the way his eyes twinkled with a vicarious glow, mischievous.

Like the Greek sea god, she thought, but didn't say a word.

Years later she would realize the irony of the situation, but not now.

Years later he would realize that when they danced together that night, her bare feet left a lively trail behind on the stark white sand, and on his heart.

* * *

_Three_

The third time they met was also their first date.

He had taken her to the beach, of course. Montauk.

He had taught her how to surf (controlling the tide all along), she had showed him how to dance. Both attempts were incredibly clumsy, but watched with amusement and patience.

Her balance on a surfboard was lousy, and he remembered pointing out that, "You're s'possed to stay on your feet, not sit on the board," with a teasing wink. She remembered sticking out her tongue to him and laughing before trying again. She was never one to back down easily.

But boy, did she know how to dance.

He will never forget how her long white skirt trailed behind her as she spun in circles, or how her bracelets twinkled and clanked when she shook her hands this way or that one, the _No, no, you're doing it wrong!_ accompanied by her strident laughter, strong and vibrant. He couldn't help but laugh along with her.

But most of all, he will never forget when he kissed her beneath the palm trees, back when night was as bright as day.

She recalls thinking that if laughter was the language of the soul, theirs were singing in harmony.

* * *

_Two_

The fourth time they met was when he opened up to her.

He had been watching her tend to her garden whilst talking to her.

Her hands were nimble, and they were as deft with writing as they were with gardening. The sight of her brought back memories of his sister Demeter, and he tried shaking them off.

But he couldn't, and a small part of him wondered how would she react if he ever told her about who he was. The other part of him wondered why didn't he do it already.

"Sally," he murmured.

She immediately noticed that something was wrong. The ever so present tune had left his lips.

She, too, stopped humming, but did not turn to look at him. "Yes?"

"I need to tell you something."

Sally's heart dropped to her stomach and she pressed her lips together, sealing her words in, listening quietly.

"I am a god."

At first she laughed, sure he must be teasing her, but his face and tone remained twisted into a mix of seriousness and, possibly, guilt. It took a while to convince her, but he did, all the while with her back turned to him.

A heavy silence settled into the thick summer air, and everything was still. The only sound was that of their breathing.

Finally she turned to look at him. She seemed confident, defiant even, as she crossed her garden and sat next to him.

He purposefully avoided her gaze, but she said, "No, look at me."

"You're a god," she repeated. "An ancient Greek god. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

She seemed to deflate a little, and Poseidon's heart sunk. His tanned hand enclosed hers and he squeezed for reassurance, but she did not return it.

Slowly, she inhaled and exhaled. "Okay," was all she said.

He was surprised at first. "'Okay'?" he quoted, seemingly not grasping the word's full meaning.

"Yes: okay."

The feeling of surprise turned into pleasure as Poseidon pulled her on top of his lap and wrapped her in a hug. And after a while, "I love you."

" I know," she joked, but her voice quivered in excitement. Poseidon smiled and pressed his nose against her hair, taking a deep breath. It always seemed to smell of her flowers. He then planted butterfly kisses behind her ear, on her jaw, neck and shoulders. Sally's head rolled back to rest on his left shoulder, and she resumed her quiet humming.

"I do, too, y'know," she whispered just as she was falling asleep.

"What?" he wondered.

"Love you."

* * *

_One_

The last time they met, they gave everything to each other.

The evening had started ordinarily enough, and they had decided to go back to the beach that with the excuse that he wanted to show her his cabin at Montauk.

Poseidon didn't quite know how to break the news to her, wasn't even sure if that was the best thing to do. But the sea was calling, and that was a matter he couldn't ignore any longer.

She had been looking through his (rather grand) seashell collection, her seemingly permanent ink-stained fingers brushing at the shelves as her eyes tried to take it all in.

"What do you think?" Poseidon inquired, already feeling the familiar tug of a smile reaching his lips.

Sally turned to look at him. "It's magnificent," she commented. "Someone's got a lot of time, huh?"

He stood from the unmade bed and made his way to her. His arms snaked around her torso and his chin rested on her shoulders.

"Well, when you're immortal..." he trailed off.

"Oh. Oh, right," she said, feeling blush creep onto her cheeks. Then, trying for an air of nonchalance she said, "About that. When are you... ah, when are you... you know... 'going back'?"

His heart sank, and he shifted position.

When he didn't answer, Sally asked again.

Silence.

"Poseidon." She shifted in his arms and turned to look at him in the eyes. "When are you going back?"

His mouth fell dry. "Soon." He avoided her gaze.

"'Soon'?"

"Tomorrow." He closed his eyes.

He heard her inhale softly and felt her shake a little. Then he felt her lips on his, moving slowly but with determination.

He opened his eyes again, surprised. He could see her perfectly in the early darkness, see her hair highlighted by the last dying rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds. And he could see her expression, one of fierceness.

And then he could feel her hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt, and he truly didn't want to, but he stopped her.

"Are you sure?"

"No, but hush." She kissed him again, this time harder and faster, deeper. He pushed her against the bed, and she fell into the soft covers.

For the next few hours, few words were said, and an air of painful awareness hung thick in the room. This would be the last time he saw her. This would be the last time she saw him.

So they might as well make it count.

On those last hours, she clung to that feeling of _forever_ that was her rock, but he was the tide. And he was sweeping her away.

When she woke up the bed was empty, but the pillow under her head smelled like salt and the sea.

_Zero._


End file.
